


Altogether

by royaltyjunk



Category: Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War, Fire Emblem: Thracia 776
Genre: Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Parenthood, Sibling Bonding, background Leif/Nanna because of course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-04 01:49:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13353969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royaltyjunk/pseuds/royaltyjunk
Summary: “Now that you’re going to become queen, you must understand your responsibilities.” Nanna and her companions over the years. Written for FE Gen Week on Tumblr.





	Altogether

**Author's Note:**

> I was planning on doing a fic like this at some time just to challenge myself, and the timing just so happened to line up perfectly so here I am  
> The themes are comfort/cold

It’s just a few days after their conquest of Barhara, when the sun is a blood red outline hidden behind mountains in the distance, when the group of Crusaders begins to disperse.

People begin to shuffle around Belhalla with nervous eyes and twitchy hands, and it’s clear to everyone that soon people will start leaving. The band of new Crusaders who freed the land of the newborn evil that had haunted them will be no more.

Instead, they will rebuild the land from the ground up.

Nanna barely holds back a flinch at that thought. It’s hard to believe, but she knows the fate the world will hold for her, and she will accept it.

Someone lays a hand on her shoulder, and she starts, turning. She meets Diarmuid’s worried eyes.

“Are you okay?” he inquires. “You look tired… and panicked. Have you been getting any sleep?”

“Yes,” she replies, sighing softly. “I’m fine, Diarmuid. Really.”

“If you insist.” Still, his hand remains on her shoulder, and he leads her down the gleaming hallways of Barhara. She leans into his touch, feeling the comfort of a sibling.

“Diarmuid?” she whispers, and almost immediately regrets it.

“What is it?”

She shakes her head, her hair brushing his shoulder. “No… it’s nothing.”

“I’m going to Agustria,” he states, and it’s like he can read her mind.

“I… I see.”

“Prince Ares requested I go back with him.”

“I see.” She always says that when she doesn’t know what to say.

“Our uncle and our mother left him a great deal to fix in Agustria… and I ought to go.”

“I see.”

“After all, you plan on staying in Leonster, don’t you? With Father and Prince Leif.”

She takes in a breath, and looks away. “Yes.”

“Don’t make that face, Nanna.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes softly. “I just feel so guilty.”

“Don’t be,” he reassures. “It makes sense. I don’t feel attached to Agustria much, personally. It is simply something I, as the eldest, should be responsible for.”

“Still… I don’t want you to be the one carrying the burden on your own.”

“I won’t be alone. Ares and Leen will be with me. And I know, no matter where I go, you and Father will be by my side, and support me.”

“I know,” she whispers, “I know, but I’m just… worried. I only just found you… we’ve had this little time together… and now you have to go?”

“Nanna, look at me.”

She lifts her head hesitantly, and he ruffles her hair, grinning. She squeaks, but relaxes slowly.

“Diarmuid…”

“We’ll meet again,” he promises softly. “We’ll meet again, Nanna.”

“… Diarmuid…”

He rubs her shoulder soothingly, and she wipes away her tears hastily. She’ll send him off with a comforting smile, like he always smiles.

~ / . / . / ~

“Now that you’re going to become queen, you must understand your responsibilities.”

That’s her father’s justification for cleaning away her shelf full of fairytale booklets and hand-sewn rag dolls in Leonster Castle. It’s replaced with weapons and Queen Alfiona’s journals and textbooks. Things more akin to a “queen’s” bookshelf, or things that her father considered “queenly” enough to be put on display.  
She stares blankly at the presently occupied bookshelf. Her father nods in approval.

“Well done, Nanna.”

“Thank you,” she murmurs, but there’s a mechanical tone in her voice.

Finn nods, and then glances over at his daughter. “...Nanna.”

“What is it, Father?” she asks, her eyes not drifting from the bookshelf.

“Do you think you are prepared?”

She doesn’t need to ask her father to clarify. It’s about her upcoming marriage and subsequent coronation. It seems to be all her father can think of these days, the only thing that crosses his mind.

She bites her lip. “Father?” she asks hesitantly.

“What is it?”

“Why is it that… you seem to care more of the coronation than me?”

The question leaves her father stone-faced. Nanna tries to hold back a flinch when she sees the steely glint his eyes, the same expression that has haunted him for so many years, but seems to have come back ten times more terrifying.

She almost regrets asking the question, but the absence of someone comforting is enough to turn her in the direction of her father.

“As a coming queen… you must understand the gravity of your duties, and of mine. We can no longer be father and daughter.”

She wants to say that they were never father and daughter because it’s the truth, but that’s just too harsh, and so she continues to listen.

“My duty as a knight is to protect the king and the queen. I cannot fail my lieges… like I already have.”

Nanna closes her eyes, a well of sadness bubbling up in her. Prince Quan and Princess Ethlyn, Princess Altena… her father spoke of them. And yet…

“Can’t you set aside your duties as a knight for once?” she asks pleadingly. “Father…”

“I did,” he whispers. “A long time ago. And because I did… because I was unable to protect her… she died.”

“But Mother was… the one you loved! You can’t possibly blame her death on your abilities as a knight!”

“She was still someone I had to protect,” Finn murmurs, “and I failed.”

“Father - ”

“If you will excuse me,” he interrupts, his voice low. He turns away, and she can’t find it in her heart to speak with her father until the day of her coronation, when the country sits in front of them, and her father, the everlasting knight, approaches her, ready to swear his vows to her, a coming queen.

“Your Highness,” he murmurs, falling to one knee.

Nanna swallows loudly, but ignores the steely gaze in her father’s eyes. Instead, she hardens her own heart.

“Sir Finn.”

And in the coming years, all Nanna can see of her father is a cold, stoic knight devoted to his king first, his queen first, and his daughter second.

~ / . / . / ~

Fiana is still the same when she goes to visit it, her newborn baby left in the care of the wet nurses and maids in Leonster Castle. She needs time. She needs to get away from her home in the castle, and go to the home she was raised, see the mother that will care for her in the place of her father.

It holds precious memories for her - memories of them as children, running through the forest and picking mushrooms, eating Eyvel’s cooking every day, watching Finn grow to smile, to barely shake off the shell he’d trapped himself into.

Yet it’s still the same. The sun sets in the same blaze of fire as it did so many years ago, the sea laps at the sandy beach the way it did in Nanna’s memories. Her feet leave long trails stretching across the sand, and she ignores the clingy, grainy substance that gradually climbs her pure white boots.

She brushes through familiar trees, glances fondly at nostalgic hollows until the feather behind her ear rustles in the wind, and she continues on, past things she used to have.

She enters from the east entrance, her face hidden by a veil and her body disguised with a cloak. When she steps inside the village, and everyone turns at the strange sight of a visiter and Othin reaches for his axe, she pulls the hood off, tears the veil away, and shakes her head violently.

They all gasp aloud, and before silence or shock and descend into the villagers’ hearts, they’re all yelling and hollering, calling for a feast to be held, a welcome to be said. Teenagers she’d once known greet her as mothers and fathers, and the elderly that used to be are still there. Small children run circles around her, chanting how they got to meet the Queen of Thracia.

Yet, there’s one person she is yet to see, and her heart wrings itself out every time she searches the crowd and doesn’t see them.

“Nanna?” Tanya inquires after Nanna cranes her neck to give the village another lookover. “What is it?”

“I… I was looking for Eyvel,” she admits, and Dagda starts at the mention of her name. Tanya closes her eyes, a strangely unhappy look on her face. “Did… something happen?”

There had always been something off about Eyvel. The way she acted, the way she wielded Magic Swords so comfortably, the way she taught Tanya the bow so effortlessly despite never having touched one in all the time Nanna had spent in her care - there was something very off about Eyvel. It had always been there.

“She regained her memories. And - ” Tanya cuts herself off, then points to Eyvel’s house. The door remains shut, despite the rowdiness of the villagers outside. “Just go talk to her.”

Perhaps now she will be able to get the answer to Eyel’s mysteriousness.

She knocks confidently on the door, and Tanya shrinks behind her. The door knob rattles slightly, and then the door opens. A strikingly familiar face greets her.  
Eyvel starts, her eyes growing wide. “Nanna…” she whispers.

“Eyvel,” she smiles softly.

“Your Highness, I - ”

“Nanna,” she whispers, cutting Eyvel off. “Nanna is just fine.”

“I couldn’t possibly - ”

“Please,” she’s almost begging now. “Please. Call me Nanna, like you used to.”

Eyvel goes silent, and then looks up. Her brown eyes meet Nanna’s gaze. “You must miss those days when we used to live in the village.”

“Of course,” Nanna responds. “How couldn’t I? It was peaceful then. Even if we were running from the Empire’s forces… it was peaceful. Quiet. Enjoyable. I can’t say that I don’t want it back.”

Eyvel doesn’t say anything, so Nanna continues.

“I heard you regained your memories.”

At that, Eyvel’s hand clenches tight around the door knob. “I did,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

Nanna smiles softly. “How wonderful. I - ”

“No.”

Eyvel’s voice cuts through Nanna’s words like a cold knife. Nanna blinks, and Eyvel’s gaze drifts to her feet.

“No. I wish I hadn’t remembered… ever.”

“Eyvel?” she inquires shakely. “What’s wrong?”

“My life… everything I’ve ever believed…” Eyvel’s nails scratch against the wooden door, clicking as she drums them angrily. “It’s all a lie.”

Nanna feels herself tense up. It’s instinct, her healer’s instinct, and she reaches a hand to lay it on Eyvel’s. It’s cold, and the swordswoman flinches, drawing her hand away. Nanna feels her lips purse up, and Eyvel shifts her gaze to the sky past Nanna.

“Safe travels, Queen Nanna.”

Nanna knows then that everything has changed between them because of Eyvel’s past.

~ / . / . / ~

“He’s still the same,” she murmurs under her breath when she sees a man with drunken eyes and flirtatious lips sitting along a bench on the streets at half-past midnight. She wraps her cloak tighter around herself, and steps forward confidently.

He smells strongly of alcohol, and there’s a swoon in his step she notices as she steps just the tiniest bit forward. He notices her then, because even in his drunken stupor, he’s vigilant and observant - he just doesn’t know his way around words. Occasionally.

“Babe!” he calls loudly, and she shushes him.

“Stop that, Homer. Getting drunk and causing a ruckus for civilians in the middle of the night is the worst thing you’ve ever done.”

“Aw, come on, babe. Why do you lecture me every time I talk to you?”

“Because frankly, Homer, you’re a mess.”

“I don’t think you can tell me that,” Homer replies in a low voice and a serious tone. For a moment, Nanna thinks he’s managed to sober up, until she realizes there is really no difference between a drunk Homer and a sober Homer.

“I guess I should know not to lie to a man such as yourself.”

“It’s all experience, sweetie.”

Nanna stifles a laugh behind her gloved hand, but the mock joy must not reach her eyes, because he meets her eyes, blinks slowly, and murmurs an apology.

She bites her lip anxiously, and laces her trembling fingers together. Homer gestures for her to sit on the bench beside him. She does, rests her hands in her lap, and suddenly can’t find the courage to meet Homer’s gaze.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” she asks softly. “I made the right decisions, didn’t I? I… shouldn’t feel guilty, or unhappy, should I?”

“It’s all in your heart, babe,” he responds with seeming ease. “Think on what you are. Think on how you should act, on how you want to feel. And if there’s a big enough gap… it’ll make itself known. And then you’ll know.”

“...Homer? If you lost your parents… what would you do?”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Nanna can feel his eyes, trained on her every movement. She crosses her legs and looks up at him.

They wait. The wind rustles the trees, hisses alongside the rushing water of the river, but doesn’t touch Nanna’s skin. She blinks, thanks him softly, and then tilts her head. Homer closes his eyes.

“...The wind,” he murmurs.

“You sound like Lewyn,” Nanna tries to joke, but it falls flat because the only time she’s heard Lewyn say that is when he was training Leif in wind magic and seemed to change into a different person, and Homer has never really spoken to Lewyn before.

All he does is laugh along, drunk, before the winds begin again, roaring against Homer’s ears and yet silent to Nanna. The spirits of magic never were drawn to her much.  
Homer smiles suddenly, and then draws the wind into a circle around himself. It rustles Nanna’s hair, brushing against her neck. Her skin tingles.

“The wind is laughing. It tells you not to worry.”

“...There are times when I forget you are drunk.”

“Is that supposed to be good? Or bad?”

Nanna shrugs.

“It said one more thing,” Homer replies, then stops. “No. It’s okay.”

The queen blinks, and Homer stands.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out, babe. You should go back home.”

She stands alongside him, and gives him a small nod. He smiles back, and walks away. She mounts her horse and rides back to the castle.

Just as she falls onto the bed beside her slumbering child, Nanna wonders what the spirits whispered into Homer’s ears, but it doesn’t matter, and so she forgets soon afterwards.

~ / . / . / ~

“I found you,” she murmurs, peeking out from behind a tree with a playful tone in her voice. The dark-haired swordmaster starts.

“Stop that, Nanna! You almost gave me a heart attack!”

Still, Mareeta sheathes her sword and smiles. Nanna laughs softly and walks out from behind the tree.

“How’d you find me?” Mareeta asks, crossing her arms.

“Galzus told me. You told him where you were going a few weeks ago, when he visited you. He thought I might want to see you.

“Did you - ”

“Yes, I did ignore my duties as queen to come see you.”

“Nanna!” Mareeta frowns. “What about your child? And Leif?”

“They know. I do things like this… a little more than often.”

“Nanna…” Mareeta gets a worried look on her face. The queen doesn’t say anything. The two women stare at each other in silence.

“...How is Eyvel?” Nanna asks softly. “Last I spoke with her… she seemed upset. She wouldn’t speak with me.”

“Oh… Mother… yes. She regained her memories… and she felt many regrets. She… well…” Mareeta takes in a deep breath, and then everything comes spilling out. Eyvel’s true name was Lady Briggid, a noblewoman of Jungby in Grannvale, who had accompanied Lord Sigurd on his campaign. She had two children that she’d just left - she just left them on their own, and she hated herself for that. Their names were Faval and Patty, two Crusaders who had been alongside Nanna and Leif in the final Holy War.

Nanna feels as if all the breath has left her lungs in that moment when Mareeta stops speaking. She’s struck speechless, and Mareeta looks at her with a gleam in her eyes telling her she doesn’t blame Nanna - it’s something that Mareeta herself must have also experienced when told the truth by her adoptive mother.

“Does… Does anyone else know?” Nanna questions softly.

“Galzus,” Mareeta responds, “and… Mother found her sister the other day. Lady Aideen.”

Lady Aideen. The name is so comforting. It had come from Diarmuid’s lips, the first time she’d heard it, and it was heartwarming to hear that the woman who had raised her brother could finally have a part of her life back.

“But that’s all,” Mareeta finishes, interrupting Nanna’s thoughts.

“I see,” she murmurs. “...I shouldn’t do anything for now, should I?”

Mareeta shakes her head. “Mother said she’s going to talk to her children soon. She just needs some time.”

“...I see. That’s why she didn’t want to talk to me.” Mareeta starts at Nanna’s soft words.

“What do you mean?” The black-haired woman asks frantically.

“No. It’s nothing,” Nanna refuses, and then closes her eyes. “Do you think… it’s okay for a queen to cry without a reason?”

“There’s always a reason. Maybe you don’t know it,” Mareeta responds immediately, and the words are so familiar because Eyvel used to tell them the exact same thing when they were growing up. “But… yes. Of course it’s okay to cry. You shouldn’t be ashamed,” Mareeta whispers. She pauses, and Nanna knows Mareeta’s never been the best at comforting people.

“Thank you, Mareeta,” she thanks, opening her eyes and smiling. Her vision is blurring with tears with that trail down her cheeks.

“Of course, Nanna.”

The two of them laugh and smile, and then remember the time they were children and share another laugh. Nanna dries her tears.

~ / . / . / ~

She arrives at her home country Agustria for the first time in the early fall of the year 805, with tears that have not yet dried trickling down her cheeks. Her fingers clench tight around the crinkled letter in her grasp, and she chokes back a sob for what seems like the millionth time today.

It’s okay to cry, she had whispered to herself, Mareeta said it was okay.

She’d made it through Grannvale with no questions, and had been skirting the edge of Verdane, just hours away from Agustria, when she’d been stopped by one of her old comrades.

“Why are you here?” Lester had asked, and it was clear that, despite their previous alliance, he didn’t trust her. She supposed it was because she had been alone at the time, but looking back at it, being the sole king of a country of barbarians had made King Lester a changed man.

“Please,” she had responded, exhausted, “just let met through. My brother…”

“Did something happen to Diarmuid?” Lester had asked, in a hushed voice. It had taken Nanna a moment to realize exactly why King Lester had sounded so startled and worried. They had grown up together, raised by King Lester’s mother in the same city.

She handed him the crinkled letter in response, and watched his face turn pale, and his eyes grow wide.

“I…” he waved to his guards. “Let her through,” he had commanded, and then had turned to her and murmured. “My apologies. Send my condolences to the king.”

“I will,” Nanna murmured, and had continued on without a word.

And so, when the sun begins to appear behind the dense forests of Verdane, she knows she has made it to her “home” - her mother and brother’s true home.

“Queen Nanna?” One of the knights on patrol asks in surprise as he approaches her at the edge of Nordion, and she dips her head.

“Tristan.”

Diarmuid had introduced them during one of his trips to Leonster with King Ares. They had brought along Tristan and his then-knight father, Eve. Leif had gotten a look in his eyes when Eve told them he’d once served Lachesis, and then left them to return to his chamber. Nanna never truly understood why he’d reacted like that.

“What are - oh.” He cuts himself off, and an ashamed look crosses his face. “I’m… my apologies, Your Highness.”

She smiles weakly at him. “It’s alright, Tristan.”

“If… If you insist,” he murmurs, then turns to the rest of the knights, who seem startled. “Come on, you great lot. We’ve got to escort the queen to His Majesty.”  
They give him dumbfounded looks, and he snorts.

“It’s not like she’d come to visit you guys. Come on. Hustle, hustle. We don’t have all day. I see you slacking off over there!”

Nanna manages a soft laugh, but it just doesn’t feel right, and so she stops. Tristan gets a light in his eyes and she knows it’s because he’s noticed, but he doesn’t say anything. The rest of the trip is silence, until the manor of Nordion finally greets their eyes, and she whispers “home” so instinctively it’s like Castle Nordion is something she’s lived her whole life with, even though she’s never been in it.

King Ares rides out to greet them, and even Tristan starts when he sees the man atop his mount, riding against the wind and through the empty city streets with his long golden hair streaking behind him.

“King Ares,” Nanna greets softly. “My apologies for inconveniencing you.”

“Of course not,” he responds, slowing his horse to a stop. “I was the one who called you out here in the first place. I'm the one inconveniencing you.”  
“Ares,” Queen Leen scolds softly as she approaches them, her own horse slowing beside her husband’s. “Don’t say that. You make it sound like Diarmuid is a nuisance to be taken care of.”

“Of course not! He - ”

“Really,” Nanna chimes in, and Ares falls silent. “It is no inconvenience. For you to send for me in the wake of my brother’s passing… it is very considerate of you.”

Leen reaches and squeezes Nanna’s hand softly before turning to her husband. “Let’s go back. Nanna needs rest. She must be tired after coming all this way.”

Ares nods, and waves Tristan off before he tightens the reins and snaps them. His horse hurries away, and Leen follows.

“Thank you, Tristan,” Nanna murmurs, and Tristan smiles.

“Of course, Your Highness. I must go now. Please excuse me.”

She watches him gallop away, her eyes trained on the brown-haired knight until Leen calls for her, and she urges her wearied mount forward.

“Just a little bit more,” she whispers soothingly, stroking its mane. The horse just whinnies and trots down the worn road that leads them to the entrance of Castle Nordion.

An overwhelming amount of servants greet them as soon as they trot into the stables, and Nanna relents to the tidal wave of people who snatch the reins from her and unsaddle her horse and make her go into the castle. Leen falls into step with her, and they walk to the throne room in silence.

Nanna lifts her eyes as they walk into the halls, and she can’t help but let out a gasp. Along the walls are portraits of her mother, her uncle, and even some of Diarmuid, or Ares and Leen. They’re beautiful portraits, painted in vibrant colors and glowing light. Her mother smiles, Uncle Eldigan muses stoically about a bush of white roses. Diarmuid grips a quill in his hand, imprinting words on a letter, Ares laughs, arm in arm with Leen.

“They were all that was left,” Leen pipes up. “All hidden in the storage room, collecting dust. But they were all that was left. All the other paintings… were burned.”

“I see,” Nanna murmurs in response, and she does see, at least her mother’s glimmering eyes and her brother’s proud stance with his back to the sunset - the deceased.

They walk through the halls, Ares leading them through a seemingly familiar mansion in Nanna’s heart but a strange and new place in her eyes.

Nanna clenches her hands around the small package in her hand, and Ares blinks when they step into the throne room and he turns to see her offering it to him.

“Queen Nanna?” he questions softly.

She just presses it into his hand. “Open it,” she urges, her voice a whisper.

He does as she says, and gently unwraps it. His breath catches in his throat.

“Father - ”

“Finn was looking through his room… and found that. Mother gave it to him a long time ago, for safekeeping when she left for Isaach. It was meant for you.”

Ares holds in the pendant in the palm of his hand, and then tucks it into the inner pocket of his coat. “Thank you, Nanna,” he whispers, but his voice still holds the formality they’d been conversing with. She brushes it off without another thought.

“Of course, Ares.” And she gives him a heartfelt smile, and when he doesn’t reciprocate, she lets it fade and watches him dismiss Leen and gesture for her to follow him.  
They approach a set of large doors near his chamber, and the guards salute before pulling the doors open. He brushes past them without another word, his black cape fluttering as he steps in confidently, but Nanna nods gratefully to the guards and follows him, her boots clicking against nearly untouched marble tile.

Ares stops, and she steps to his side.

“I never come here,” he murmurs, and there’s a hint of guilt in his voice, and a world of coldness remaining.

“I don’t blame you,” Nanna mutters back, her eyes searching the names carved in the smooth grave markers placed atop rows and rows of coffins. They’re easy to find, because Ares points them out to her - fit snuggly against the wall and next to each other.

“They’re the most… recent deaths,” he explains, a quiver in his words. He steels himself in the next sentence. “Our house doesn’t… produce many descendants, so we can afford to keep all of the deceased in one room.”

“Oh,” she murmurs in realization. “And most of them… are married off, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” Ares agrees, and gives her a strange look that Nanna deciphers to be a look of sympathy, almost.

“I won’t be buried here,” she murmurs the thoughts scrambling in her mind aloud. Ares can only nod sadly in confirmation.

“As the Queen of Thracia… it simply wouldn’t be proper to bury you here.”

All Nanna hears is unbridled pity and sympathy, and she almost wants to tell him to save it for someone else, and then the little flare of rebellion in her heart smothers itself and doesn’t come back.

“I’m sorry, Ares.”

“No, I should be the one who’s sorry.”

He stays by her side at the royal burial room, and watches as she kneels in front of her mother and brother’s graves and whispers a gentle prayer in a soft voice, feeling the gap in her heart widen like Homer had told her.

He doesn’t say anything else, and when she stands he offers his hand - a sign of comfort. His hands are cold to the touch, even through the white gloves he wears.


End file.
